


The Best Laid Plans

by JackieSBlake7



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 06:37:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7211903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackieSBlake7/pseuds/JackieSBlake7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Travis goes on the Bari</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Laid Plans

‘Run, Blake, run. As far and as fast as you like. I’ll find you. You can’t hide from me. I am your death, Blake.’

~~~~

Travis looked around the spaceport bar, ready to leave. He noticed a head of curly brown hair in the corner - could it be Blake? He was drawn to the other man irresistibly.  
Those here, whether on shore leave or serving them, would enjoy a fight, would probably place bets on it, but would prefer the fair warning that Travis would give even Blake.  
 _We would both agree about that, wouldn’t we Blake? We understand our hatreds and motives. And I respect the way you inspire loyalty among your crew. I could do the same with my men. And that’s what divides Servalan from us. Who do you think she would face on that planet where we fought Blake, not so different from the world she and I came from? Does she ever think of our home world: was it she who turned it into what it is now?_  
The other man looked up on Travis’ approach. He was much younger than Blake, and had a military air about him: a deserter perhaps. _Flotsam of the Federation, like me. What made you leave, my friend, brash as I remember myself to have been at your age? Those were the good days, with all before me. Did you see your way blocked without a sponsor? You didn’t have a Servalan to help you?  
If you can call it help – she used me, abused me, and then refused to help me when I needed her most. You are just the sort she would take. I also recognise the fleeting expression on first seeing me – I have seen it more often than I care to count. As you are now, so I was once. As I am now I hope you **never** be.   
‘Yes, I’m Del Tarrant, the pilot.’ Mistaking him for someone who wished to hire his services. Ex-FSA by the accent, and Travis felt a brief twinge of jealousy. _The need for a job forced me into the services, and my family had neither money nor clout enough to send me to the FSA. I enjoyed being a soldier though – and I was good at the job. It was not all Servalan’s doing that got me where I was. Anything rather than stay on the back of beyond planet where I grew up – especially with what happened after I left._  
‘And I’m not who you expected, either,’ Travis said with a smile.  
‘Obviously not.’  
‘Care for a drink while you wait?’ Travis asked. He indicated to one of the staff and sat down. ‘Or are you expecting a lady friend?’ _You and yours have “ladies” those among whom I worked have “women.”_  
‘I’m a pilot for hire,’ Tarrant repeated, flushing slightly, but not recognising the ironic tone. ‘Who was it you were looking for? In case I get mistaken for him again.’  
 _Fair enough_ , Travis thought. _And I won’t turn down a moment’s companionship, acknowledging what we both were and now are_. Travis paid for the drinks when they came.  
‘The man who did this to me,’ Travis touched his hand to his damaged face. The gesture made Tarrant obviously uncomfortable. Not at the prosthesis itself: he would have come across such things before. In the Forces, if you were senior enough, or had a specialist skill, and the damage could be repaired after a fashion you could remain within the system. Those like Par – probably killed for “allowing” Travis to escape – would have been medically retired for their pains - if they survived. ‘Roj Blake was responsible. He belongs to me. Has for the last six years.’ A vague nod of recognition – Tarrant knew the name, that he was a rebel, and little more.  
‘I had a lucky escape then.’  
‘Travis,’ he replied, answering, the unspoken question. ‘I am not after you.’ _Only Blake, and, despite all the indoctrination of the service, an ever-growing resentment towards Servalan._ ‘And this,’ Travis extended his artificial hand, flexing it, ‘has its uses. There is a weapon always to hand.’ Tarrant was both fascinated and repelled. _At least you are young enough, and honest enough, to show your feelings_. ‘And it has a strength that the other arm does not.’ Travis saw Tarrant become aware of someone. ‘I will leave you to your client.’  
‘And if I ever see Blake what shall I tell him from you?’  
‘Nothing. He’s mine, always will be.’ Travis rose. ‘Take care.’ _How can I warn you of the Servalans of the galaxy? I doubt your paths will cross. Let your anonymity protect you_._

_~~~~_

_Travis sat in his ship, thinking what he would do next. Once, he had been grateful for the attentions of Servalan, given mainly because they had both come from the same planet. He had joined the forces out of necessity, she because it was what her family did, her entry into the highest ranks of the military was automatic and assured. Among the higher ranks her long-term ambitions were taken for granted. More than one Supreme Commander had made a bid for the Presidency.  
She assumed all the trappings of the authority she was given, satisfying all her whims, as ruthless as she was ambitions, destroying anyone or anything in her way, heedless of the costs to others. Travis had no proof that she bore the responsibility of creating the war of all against all that was “open planet” status on their home world, but he suspected it.  
 _And the tragedy is that I’d fit into that world now better than the world of my youth. Damn you Servalan: what do you care for others? You couldn’t even say anything when I told you what Marriott had done for me. My loyalties were drummed into me – to you, to the service, to the Federation – and I would obey your commands still. Or would I? See what you have done to me Servalan. You know full well the impact you have on others._  
The realisation that he had broken his loyalty to Servalan – for now, and for what she represented – gave Travis an almost visceral pleasure, and his artificial hand clenched.  
 _Obey your orders I will if I must, but beware. Outlaw you called me, outlaw I am – but what are you?  
When I have dealt with Blake, I will pursue you instead Servalan, and render unto you what you deserve. There is something outside the galaxy – or why the defensive zone? – so perhaps I will draw both of you out there. Will we go in a blaze of glory against the minefield, or will we be fighting around the computers of Star One wherever it may be? I am damned whatever I do. Who shall I take with me? We all want to destroy each other, you and I and Blake. How shall I arrange it? Who else will be brought into our armageddon?  
Perhaps, though I should go for the simplest option. I would like to see my home world one more time, and if I do not get there myself, I can arrange for the mutoids to lure Blake and Servalan there.  
I wonder how Servalan would fare on Gauda Prime now._  
Travis told his mutoids what they were to do, including to become as human-like as possible. Deprived of their usual drugs and indoctrination they would do so to some extent anyway. This led to the thought of reprogramming them. He had done it before in field conditions. It did not take that long, and it was within his capacities here._

_He checked the commercial civilian ships leaving this planet. The Bari was going to Freedom City. Who hadn’t heard of the place? The Military High Command and its civilian counterpart disapproved of it and its equivalents – they would wouldn’t they? – but they were just as willing to go there as anyone else. Hypocrites all – their main complaint was that they couldn’t tax the place. He would go to Freedom City and enjoy the pleasures to be found there. They’d rob him blind if they could, but he’d have a good time while they did. Besides, places like that tended to collect gossip and rumours, and it was the sort of place Blake might go, as it was neutral. So long as you had the money to spend there, nobody cared who you were.  
There might be information there to lead him where he wanted. The staff of Star One would have to be replaced regularly as they came to the end of their working life, and grapevines operated in the oddest places.  
One mutoid would go with him, and the other two would take his ship to Gauda Prime. There would be a rendezvous with one of them on Freedom City. He would also think of a plan later for what they could do, should he not survive to complete his vendetta.  
The mutoid going with him arranged for them to go on the Bari, and the two went to the docking area. He would have to give her a name. Well, she had been called Arlen once.  
Within a few minutes of his arrival in the transit lounge Travis sensed that he was being observed, and broke out of his reverie to return the insolence. He accepted – most of the time – what had happened to him, but was forever conscious of the glances, overt and covert, that came his way. Once the uniform had distracted from his injuries. Now he no longer had that protection. He did not mind the children’s curiosity. It was when their parents hurried them away, or he heard the whispered comments of disconcerted passers by, that the anger came and he was tempted to reply. Civilians always wanted the protection the military provided, but they did not wish to face the consequences.  
A man of middling age was looking at him, and Travis was reminded of the hospital stays, when he was being treated after the shoot-out with Blake. Then, he had been regarded not as a person but a case, the medics distancing themselves from what they did through necessity. He had come to appreciate the protective gallows humour they used amongst themselves.  
So we are a surgeon or somesuch then.  
‘Military job. Marriott was it?’ The other spoke softly, so that nobody would pay attention. He was not quite sober, and moved as one regularly so. Not that Travis was a stranger to hard drinking – one of the ways he and his filled long empty hours off duty.  
‘Yes. He’s dead.’  
‘Pity. He was a good surgeon, better than I am. What happened?’  
‘Spaceship accident.’ Travis would not go into details.  
‘Waste of a good surgeon, as you would agree.’ Not sympathy, but acknowledging a fact. The contrast with Servalan’s indifference could not have been more glaring. Something niggled at the back of Travis’ mind. Had he had some contact with this man somewhere? No, not directly –perhaps in a file somewhere. ‘You going on the Bari?’ Travis was divided between annoyance that he would have someone like this drunken stranger imposed on him for most of the trip, and the pleasure of someone who was prepared to treat him as a person, and more communicative than the mutoid Arlen. Unless. of course, this was one of Servalan’s assassins, hiding behind a mask of alcohol. Blake would do it himself, or one of his crew would do it for him.  
But – nobody had expected Travis to be on this planet, or that he would go on the Bari.  
‘I think so.’  
‘You don’t have much with you.’  
‘I travel light.’  
‘The name is Kline by the way,’ the other man said as they walked to the docking bay.  
‘Travis. And yes, I’m ex-military.’  
‘And on the run, like me.’ Travis felt a sudden flash of interest. There might be something of use here. If he was going to go back home to a place of bounty hunters, he might as well find some bait for Blake.  
‘What makes you think that I’m running from anyone?’  
‘I recognise the signs. And few leave the military at your age voluntarily.’  
‘Who are you running from then?’  
‘The enemies in my head or out of it?’ Kline said sardonically.  
‘I can’t help you with the ones in your head.’  
‘Maybe they are not those sort of ghosts. I have what I did to thirty people on my conscience.’  
And what was I put on trial for? Kline clearly had a story he wished to tell, but would do so unwillingly.  
‘What about the enemies outside your head?’  
‘It’s best I don’t tell you – yet. Tell me Travis do you play cards?’  
‘Occasionally,’ Travis was suddenly weary – this would be a long trip, and he would be spending much of it with a mutoid and a drunk, with nothing better to fill his time than to satisfy his curiosity about Kline’s probably inconsequential secret._

_They went through the check-in procedures. Travis was only vaguely aware of the look given the mutoid, and gave a muttered assurance that there would be no “incidents.” Arlen followed him to his assigned cabin and unpacked his things.  
Travis was probably safer here than on his own ship. He would give the mutoids further instructions now, while he could still contact his own ship, and later.  
Kline still niggled. Servalan’s hireling he doubted, and Blake was far away. Another rebel perhaps – but he had known Marriott, who had remained loyal to the Federation, for all the good it had done him.  
A face in the Federation’s wanted files came to him. Docholli. That was the name – and perhaps Marriott had mentioned him. Servalan certainly did, not that she knew Travis had heard her abusing the aide who had informed her of his vanishing.  
 _Well, Kline, I can understand why you have changed your name, and why you are on the run. If Servalan wants you so badly, so will Blake, and you are of use to me. I will do my best to ensure your survival when I have done with you. More than Servalan would do for you._  
Travis had played cards in the barracks, and he had to admit Docholli – or Kline – was good. He was able to make money out of anybody who cared to join him. He was going to Freedom City to try his hand as a professional gambler, and to escape the reach of those within the Federation who were after him. He dropped Travis just enough hints to make it clear there was some justification to his fears, but even at his most sober was unclear precisely what he had done.  
The games and the hints served to distract Travis from the rustbucket of a ship they were on, and the nagging feeling that there was something seriously wrong with it.  
Where was Tarrant when he needed him? The damage to Travis’ face had affected his hearing, which had been repaired, but sometimes he could feel vibrations that others could not. Occasionally those mechanics who knew of it would ask him for help. With this ship he could not – quite – hear something that was not as it should be.  
He would get off at the first planetfall, and persuade Kline to come with him and wait for the next ship - the Space Princess, which was similar to the Bari, but, probably, safer. The man offered companionship of a sort, and Travis had encountered little enough of that recently. Besides, the conversation of the other passengers bored him._

_Occasionally now there were times when he did not think of Blake or Servalan._

_~~~~_

_It was the smell of burning that woke Travis: a familiar scent, from too many battles, too much action. Instinctive reactions took over. He was battle trained this was going to be nothing different, for all it was a civilian ship.  
But it was, of course. On a military ship, all bar the newest recruits were as trained as he was, and instinct could contain fear until the crisis was over. The mutoids, if present, would have proceeded emotionless, regardless. Here, civilians were panicking, confusing the situation. The smell of fear was in the air, people rushing around, echoes of phrases.  
He made for the flight deck. Arlen trailing behind him. The crew at least would – or should – have some discipline.  
‘What is going on?’ he barked. They were visibly afraid of what was happening. The best option would be to take control himself.  
‘Fire in the secondary burner.’  
‘What help can we get?’  
‘None.’ As always. And they were on the last part of the journey to Freedom City.  
The crew almost automatically obeyed him. Even the captain deferred. _Wel_ l, thought Travis, _I know what is supposed to be done, and tell this crew in the right tone of voice, and they will follow instructions, and be duly gratefu_ l.  
Commands were issued over the public address system – standard procedures. Sometimes telling people that someone knew what they were supposed to be doing, might be able to save them from disaster, eased panic.  
Then Travis made for the fire, Arlen still following him, doing what she could. He had dragooned some of the crew to help him, and directed others to get the civilians out of the way._

_The acrid fumes began to choke them from some distance away. Travis put on the breathing apparatus provided at the last possible moment – somewhat uncomfortable, as they usually were.  
‘We will be approaching Freedom City shortly. They are fully aware of the situation and will take all necessary measures,’ the tannoy announced. Promises, promises, and there were already casualties.  
Closer to the source of the fire: chemical smells penetrating the mask, irritating his throat, his eye.  
He almost tripped over something: a person.  
‘Deal with this,’ he told the crew members following him, not stopping to see what they did.  
He was near to the fire: the temperature was almost unbearable. The automatic fire controls had worked, for a little while at least, but even they could not cope with what had been happening here.  
Travis smiled behind the mask, all doubts gone. At last he was doing what he had been trained to do, without any hesitation. He was in command again, even if it was on a civilian ship in an emergency: those around him accepting his orders without question, not caring who or what he was, only that he knew what to do and they didn’t.  
Another fallen person – no, two – seemingly trapped under twisted metal. Travis recognised Kline. A drunk he might be, but he had surgical experience, and he would be useful – far more than the first aid Travis had learned as a new soldier. In a storm any port will do, anybody who could do what was necessary, however weak. Looking around Travis realised that Kline had been dealing with the emergency and attempting to rescue others. With brute force, he created a gap, and the crew members dragged the two out.  
‘This one here has medical skills – do what you can with him.’  
‘But…’  
‘Do it.’ The crew member had a choking fit. Travis half-lifted Kline and the crew member almost automatically helped him, and they went out of the danger zone. The ship’s doctor approached. More used to the minor illnesses and injuries of the passenger service, he was doing what he could. ‘You’ll see much worse than this shortly. See to this one: he’s a medic, like you.’ Travis left as the doctor started to work on Kline.  
Travis returned into the fray. He did not consider what he was doing, beyond that his task was to rescue what he could and aid those attempting to get the fire damage under control. A couple of times he used the blaster in his prosthetic arm to open doors warped in the heat. Then he was aware of Kline tending to someone he had brought out. They acknowledged each other briefly.  
Eventually, exhausted and filthy, Travis became aware that the fire had been controlled, was out. The ship was safe – if it could make it to Freedom City. He went to his cabin, weary as after a battle.  
The captain of the ship came to him. ‘You did a good job.’  
‘Yes.’ There was nothing more to be said.  
‘You will be a hero.’  
‘For doing what is expected of me? I acted as the Federation trained me.’ _But why **shouldn’t** I feel pride?_   
Then: _If the Federation High Command hear of this, they will resume the court martial in the full flow of its hypocrisy, and will only be more ruthless as a result. Traitors cannot be heroes, or what would that make Blake?_   
‘Nobody asked you to do this. And they,’ the passengers that was, ‘will see you as a hero.’ Travis started coughing violently. ‘If the medical centre weren’t half way to a morgue I would order you there.’  
At last Travis could speak. ‘What’s happening there? I’ve been in field hospitals before. That is why I ended up like this.’ He clawed the air with his prosthetic arm. The captain reacted.  
‘This is different. Even your pet doctor is sickened, and he’s dealt with more than the usual things we get on board.’  
‘He’s nothing to do with me. Birds of passage.’  
The ship’s doctor appeared, looking grim. He had obviously been involved in some surgical procedures, and Travis felt sick again. ‘You should be checked over,’ the doctor said, and indicated that the captain leave. Arlen stood, impassive, in the corner.  
Travis had another coughing fit, realised he had received some bruising – or worse. ‘I’ve had smoke inhalation before,’ he managed when he had recovered.  
‘Let’s see what else you have.’ Travis stripped himself to the waist. He started to mentally distance himself, as he had for countless other medical treatments  
‘You’ve been in the wars,’ the doctor said without thinking.  
‘That’s what being a soldier’s about.’  
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…’  
‘You are a civilian.’ A statement of fact rather than offence. The doctor carried out some medical checks in reply. Well, he had probably signed up for a relatively quiet life, nothing more than the effects of overindulgence and the occasional accident, and he had ended up with something like this.  
‘Do you need any specific assistance?’  
‘The mutoid has basic medical knowledge or do you need her? Do you have any dream suppressants? Travis let the doctor draw his own conclusions as to why they were needed. Though lately, since he had become a hunted man, Travis had had fewer nightmares.  
‘I’ll see what I can do. You’ve had them before? You know the risks?’ Travis began stripping his arm down, to check for any obvious damage, knowing full well the discomfort it induced in others._

_~~~~_

_The Bari limped towards Freedom City. Word of what happened quickly spread, and Travis found himself in the pleasant position of being treated with recognition and respect – and some credit in the establishments he chose to favour. There was a twinge of regret though: he knew that as people returned to Federation territories they would spread the details of what had happened to a greater extent than the viscasts. All too soon, Servalan and the other authorities would be after him. He was a fugitive from whatever justice the Federation claimed to offer, and whatever protection Freedom City gave might not be enough. Would Blake or Servalan get to him first? Kline, Docholli or whatever name he would use next would also be a subject of interest to Servalan. He had finally admitted to Travis that he knew something about Star One.  
He had been forced to because he needed Travis’ protection. Some of the people he had helped on the Bari were complaining about what he had done to them. While some accepted that Kline had done the best he could under the circumstances that he had saved their lives, or given them a better life than they would otherwise have, others complained that he should have done more, returned them to the condition that they had been before. Travis could understand that, had felt the same once, needed a scapegoat too.  
And so Travis guarded Docholli, waiting for him to decide what he would do next, being paid through winnings at gaming tables – more than Travis expected – and the promise of at least some of his knowledge._

_~~~~_

_One of the two mutoids he had sent to Gauda Prime came to Freedom City: his plans were being carried out. As a backhanded compliment to Dochelli, Travis called her Klyn. He sent both her and Arlen to Gauda Prime with their final instructions – for now at least. Whatever happened to Travis himself, Blake and Servalan would be drawn there and – what? Doom would befall Blake and Servalan regardless, wherever they ended up – here, outside the galaxy, or on Gauda Prime. And at the end they would know who was responsible._

_~~~~_

_The mutoids had been on Gauda Prime for some two Standard years, and they had heard nothing since they cam from one who had used the keyword ‘Outlaw’ – whose real name, they decided, was Travis. They discussed his probable fate on occasion, and had decided that he might have been caught up in the Intergalatic War. He was a brave man, and did his duty to the Federation, protecting its citizens, as on the Bari._

_It had taken them time to contact Blake – who was not on the ship that Outlaw/Travis had said he might use. Blake had persuaded himself without much prompting of the advantages of a base on Gauda Prime. The mutoids were reasonably certain it was the man Travis had wanted. He had set himself and his group up as bounty hunters. Federation propaganda stated that such scum moved happily between being rebels, bounty hunters, drug smugglers and such pursuits, so this was to be expected. Besides, working as a bounty hunter helped the Federation, by removing other undesirables. And by drawing others like himself to his side he was continuing his service to the Federation. When this planet was taken over, it would be easier to locate the group and deal with them as appropriate. Following the instructions Outlaw/Travis had given them, the one Travis had called Klyn established herself in his group, without revealing her past. The other two mutoids carried out similar work – it was what Outlaw/Travis would have ordered them to do.  
The trio were also trying to locate Servalan, which proved more difficult. The evidence of the viscasts indicated that she might have died recently, but other, less official sources, indicated that this might not be so.  
Outlaw/Travis had instructed the three to arrange a forward base for the Federation at such time as it took greater interest in Gauda Prime, so they did. Now it seemed that everything was working according to his plans. Blake was here, someone who might well be Servalan was approaching, and the Federation was preparing to take over the planet. The mutoid named Arlen contacted the Federation forces to indicate the route to take through the minefield.  
Then Arlen contacted Blake. He proved easier to convince of her “good intentions” than she expected. She was soon ensconced in his base, and linked up with Klyn. Arlen then contacted the third mutoid who informed her that the one they suspected of being Servalan had arrived and was indeed her. She was being secured in the mutoids’ sometime base. There was a possibility that several of those that Outlaw/Travis had identified as being Blake’s associates were approaching his base. The last instructions Travis had imposed on the two mutoids who had gone to Freedom City – as he realised the extent of Servalan’s ruthlessness towards him – were suddenly released, and were followed._

_~~~~_

_Avon sat in the “cell” – a room of Blake’s base – thinking. There was nothing else to do. There was a supply of food, and running water, but nothing had happened. He had stopped expecting Vila to appear at the door. Why hadn’t the Federation interrogators come yet? He had decided to admit who he was when they came, and accept the consequences.  
Orac was partially responsible for what had happened – as over Malodaar – and Avon was glad that he had made his peace with Vila over that. The computer would have to make its own decisions now as to its fate.  
He now understood the request Vila had once made to Orac, that the group be remembered to those it met, however long it persisted. Avon could imagine some future group of rebels, as misguided as they had been having stories of what Blake and the others had done inflicted on them. Would Orac tell them of the part it had played in the anonymous destruction of the Federation’s most wanted opponents, on a near unknown planet, in the back of beyond? The irony of the situation had struck him as he stood over Blake’s body, understanding the magnitude of the betrayal that had occurred.  
Once, Avon remembered, Blake had fought Travis on a planet whose wooded areas bore a passing resemblance to those of Gauda Prime, to understand the death of a friend and of an enemy. Was that what he had faced here?  
He had wanted to see Blake again – curiosity as to what he had done, why had never taken the opportunities of the Intergalactic War’s aftermath.  
 _I would have helped you become President, Blake, if that was what you desired, after the Intergalactic War, or having met you again on Gauda Prime. And I would have reformed the Federation banking system and claimed a large – and legitimate – fee for protecting it from the likes of myself. I would also have provided a way for you to leave that office gracefully – you would not have enjoyed it, or done it justice. The freedom the Liberator offered was too tempting. That was what I wanted. You recognised that when you said you trusted me from the beginning. My curiosity and a strong sense of self-preservation would keep you safe as well as me.  
And I agreed to your last request on the Liberator – that when you needed me most, I would come, which led to Terminal, and to here. I wanted a new base, I admit, but the Federation were about to move in, and I knew you would need rescuing. Again.  
Not that it worked out that way, of course.  
When I teleported down to Gauda Prime, I asked Orac to run a last check that it was you here – a last doubt. Orac made a strange comment, about being careful whom I trusted and help and betrayal where I did not expect it. Blake’s base was compromised in undetermined ways.  
Then, in the tracking gallery, a miasma of betrayal and fear and despair. The Federation was at the gates, and all you could talk about was waiting for me – to do what? The last few seconds were a mixture of shock and hopes betrayed and trust guttering to a close. I think Blake, that as you died, we both understood it was a ghastly mistake. Though, you said once, knowing I felt the same, that you would prefer a clean death, at the hands of a friend, than be captured again and destroyed again by the Federation. Arlen said you could no longer tell who was friend and who enemy: did you want to die?_  
The door opened, disturbing the way the thoughts were going. Arlen came in with another woman. Correction – with a mutoid. Second correction – they were both mutoids. Gossip said – among other things – that they could “revert” to a more human form, which might be why Blake had not seen Arlen for what she was, in that respect at least.  
‘You killed Blake?’ Arlen asked. Strange question.  
‘You know the answer to that.’ He was doomed anyway, so might as well get what little enjoyment he could out of needling them.  
‘Who sent you here?’ That was an even more bizarre question.  
‘Why?’  
‘We need to know if Travis sent you.’  
 _Travis?! If there is an afterlife, you must be laughing._  
‘I did know Travis.’ A true statement. Then he realised – _these two do not know Travis is dead. But – who does, apart from myself? Not Servalan – I did not mention it on Sarran, and never thought to mention it to her thereafter. Vila knows, Jenna if she lives, and, strangely, Tarrant, who, it transpired, had met him once, and been told his fate, after I had asked him why he knew I was not Blake. Did the memory of Travis cause you to see Blake in another light, Tarrant?_ ‘Why do you ask?’  
‘He is responsible for our being here, and ordered things to be set up. We were instructed to bring Servalan and Blake here, unknowing of each other’s presence. Travis would deal with them – or send someone to do so. Therefore our instructions are to obey you.’ Curiouser and curiouser, as the saying went.  
‘Why here, Gauda Prime?’  
‘Travis was born here.’ Avon had known he was from the Outer Planets, with a single name, but never given it further thought. Had Blake known? ‘And Travis felt that Servalan was directly responsible for what this place had become, that this was the best place for her to be.’  
‘My companions?’  
‘Are alive. As are many of those on the base.’  
Avon felt unexpectedly pleased – if nothing else, they worked as a team. Travis could not have foreseen what would have happened. ‘A ship has been arranged.’ Even better. ‘What do you wish to do?’  
‘I wish to collect something which I left outside, and go to the ship in which we came. There is equipment there that needs to be retrieved.’ Orac was a necessity, and if the teleport and Stardrive could be kept from the Federation, better yet. And – if the Federation forces could be directed to the ship, they might think the group were dead, giving them a freedom they had never before experienced.  
‘As you wish. Travis arranged for his security clearances to be transferred to his deputies. All the information he wished collected is stored on the ship’s computers. Along with information downloaded from Servalan’s ship’s computers.’  
Whether some last act of malice against the Federation or not, Orac might find it useful.  
‘Tell Servalan that Blake was killed as a result of Travis’ instructions.’ There was some truth in that. ‘And release her to the authorities.’ Avon no longer cared what happened to her, was free of whatever control she had had over him. Travis had as much claim on what befell her as anyone, and would accept the role Avon had just assigned him. Whatever the truth behind Travis’ perception, this would be a fitting place to leave her. ‘You,’ Arlen, ‘go to the ship, and you,’ the other mutoid, ‘release the others.’ Both left. These two would have to come with them for a while at least. He would tell them of Travis’ death eventually, and provide them with whatever future they wanted and he could give them._

_Avon stood in the corridor, waiting for the others. Orac had copied much from Zen’s and Slave’s memory banks. He had a new ship, companions, and a new future to develop._

__Blake is dead – to my regret – thanks to a man dead two years, whose instructions were never rescinded or questioned.  
I am finally free of Blake, and yet I will continue the fight for him. His name provides a common symbol for the opposition and the Federation. I can now carry out my plan, linking the rebels, without another Zukan suborned by Servalan – Orac came up with the evidence. I once suggested to Blake that I, rather than he be President, and he replied my curiosity was too powerful. Perhaps I am curious enough to see what I could do with it. Blake’s dream, my practical nature, and a group to advise me.  
Well, Travis, what do you make of that?_ _

_Avon, ready to leave, saw a familiar head of curly brown hair in the distance, and raised his hand in greeting and smiled._

**Author's Note:**

> This appeared originally in 'I Mutoid' - a few minor changes.


End file.
